


Beyond the Sea

by LadyRhiyana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Meet the Family, Road Trips, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Tropical Holiday
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28338774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: Brienne went home for Sevenmas every year. But this was the first time she had ever brought someone home with her – even if it was only Jaime, her stray Lannister flatmate, who would have gnawed his own foot off to escape Sevenmas at Casterly Rock.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 26
Kudos: 103





	Beyond the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Beyond the Sea" by Bobby Darin, because it never fails to put me in a good mood and make me smile.
> 
> (A warning for a brief episode of motion-sickness? I'm sorry if it puts anyone off.)

At the end of a long, hot, exhausting day of driving, they finally reached the coast.

Brienne toed off her shoes and socks and ran barefoot down the hot sand until she came to the waterline, where the waves washed over her feet, blessedly cool.

It felt so good that she strode further out, still fully dressed, until the water was up to her waist and then her shoulders. With a long sigh of relief, she lay back and let herself sink beneath the surface, weightless, feeling her body float and her hair wave about her face.

When she came up for air she saw Jaime wading into the water, shirtless, looking every bit a golden god.

**

They were on their way to Tarth.

Brienne went home for Sevenmas every year. But this was the first time she had ever brought someone home with her – even if it was only Jaime, her stray Lannister flatmate, who would have gnawed his own foot off to escape Sevenmas at Casterly Rock. 

_I can’t make it this year,_ he had lied to his aunt. _I’ve got an important meeting on Tarth._ He’d looked directly at Brienne, his eyes lit up with mischief. _Brienne’s taking me home to meet her family_.

There had been an exclamation from the other end of the phone.

 _Yes, it’s still very new,_ he’d said, face exaggeratedly solemn. _I don’t want to throw her to the lions and scare her off_.

**

They’d left before dawn, their luggage packed into the boot of Brienne’s small, practical grey car. Jaime had also brought snacks and drinks and an esky filled with enough gourmet food to feed a small army. _We’ll stop and have a nice picnic lunch along the way_ , he’d said brightly.

Brienne had eyed him askance. _Have you ever been on a days-long road trip, Jaime?_ she’d asked. _Driving for hours in the hot sun, kids restless and carsick in the back, tempers flaring?_

He’d looked puzzled. _We always took the private jet_.

**

That first night, after her impromptu swim, they went in search of accommodation. But this close to Sevenmas, the popular coastal beach town was filled with holidaying families and tourists, and most of the hotels, motels and even the pubs were already booked out.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Brienne muttered. “Don’t worry about booking ahead, you said. It’s more fun to be impulsive –”

Jaime slanted her a glinting green glance. The corner of his mouth curled up. “It _is_ more fun. Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

They drove around and around in circles, Brienne maintaining a determined calm, until they saw a backpacker hostel on the main street, with the VACANCY sign lit up in bright neon.

“No,” she said, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ve always wanted to stay in a backpacker hostel,” Jaime mused. “It always looked like fun.” Given the wicked glance he sent her, though, she was pretty sure he was joking. Lannisters would probably never be caught dead in such a place.

“Well, I have stayed in one,” she said, “and I was too old for it then – and I’m much too old now.”

They went around in one last circle, hoping to find somewhere – anywhere – else. She even considered parking near the beach and sleeping in the car, but it was far too small for both of them. 

**

They checked into the backpacker hostel.

There was only one room left, and the room had only one bed.

Brienne drew in a long, calming breath.

“I can take the floor,” Jaime said bravely, wrinkling his nose at the suspicious stains on the carpet.

“No,” she sighed. “No, we’ll have to share the bed.”

It wasn’t a small bed, but Jaime was a tall man, and Brienne even taller; more, the mattress sagged in the middle, and so they inevitably found their shoulders and feet brushing.

Brienne had lived with Jaime for almost a year. A certain degree of closeness was inevitable between flatmates; her kitchen was narrow and cramped, and her couch was small enough that they almost touched when they both sat down to watch TV. Even during their long drive, they had been in close proximity for hours, close enough that she could smell his woodsy cologne. But lying beside him on a sagging mattress, their arms and shoulders touching, their bed a small island of calm while the rowdy backpackers partied and shouted outside, was something entirely different.

She could feel his warmth, breathe in his scent, and hear the slow, calming rhythm of his breathing. She could feel the solid strength of his body, usually disguised by his lazy manner and expensive clothing.

She stayed awake long into the night, listening to his breathing and her own swift-beating heart, until she finally drifted into a deep sleep.

When she woke, she found herself entwined with Jaime, their arms and legs tangled, her face buried in his shoulder, her cheek rubbing against his soft grey shirt. His face was only inches from her own; his eyes blinked open, green and hazy, and he smiled at her, sweetly sleep-drunk and unfocused –

She started up and scrambled out of bed.

**

They did not speak about it.

Jaime took the first shift behind the wheel, speeding up the highway as the sun rose, one hand on the wheel and the other clutching his coffee-cup. He was a much more reckless driver than Brienne, his reflexes faster, and he delighted in barrelling along at top speed while belting out rock songs.

He’d raced expensive cars in his late teens and early 20s, before the accident that had almost crippled his hand; his record time in the Lannisport hill climb was still unbeaten, even now.

He hated going slow, he hated being stuck behind slow drivers, and he furiously resented being overtaken. All of which had led Brienne to let him drive in the early mornings, when there were still very few cars on the road.

After two hours they stopped to stretch their legs and walk about, and then they swapped places. Brienne put the seat back, switched to a calmer, more sedate playlist, and they were off at a more sensible pace.

The scenery flew past – endless forest alternating with endless fields, mountains slowly growing on the horizon – and they spoke of everything and nothing, commenting on this and that, arguing about trifles as they always did – but they did not speak about the night previous, or about waking up together, limbs entwined.

They stopped at a popular tourist lookout to take photos, and they posed together and took a selfie with the vast landscape as a spectacular backdrop behind them, and still they did not speak about it.

Even when they pulled into a cool green park shaded with overhanging trees, the smell of grass and a nearby creek heady in the hot, dusty air, and pulled out Jaime’s gourmet food, it remained unspoken between them.

The cicadas droned and clicked, filling the silence with their vast endless song, and still they said nothing.

**

When they stopped for the second night they found suitable accommodation without any difficulty, and booked two rooms, with two separate beds.

As she slept alone in her own bed, Brienne refused to think about Jaime’s warmth, or remember what he had smelled like, or the way his grey t-shirt had felt so soft beneath her cheek.

**

On the third day they came to a long, winding range, the road twisting and turning back upon itself as it climbed higher and higher. Brienne’s attention was fixed on the road, intent on driving as safely and responsibly as possible – so she did not quite realise what it meant when Jaime reached across and cranked the air-conditioning up as high as it could go.

It was only when Jaime said “Brienne, you’d better pull over soon –” that she looked over to him and saw he was pale and sweating, his eyes glassy and his face tinged with green.

As soon as it was safe, she pulled over and brought the car to a halt. Jaime threw open the door, wrestled out of his seatbelt and staggered a few steps away, leaning over and taking deep breaths.

Brienne got out of the car much less recklessly, walked over beside him and handed him a thermos of cold water. He took a sip, spat out the water with a sound of disgust, and drank again, his throat working as he swallowed.

There was a moment of silence as he straightened up, still pale and sweating.

“Don’t say it,” he ground out, looking anywhere but at her.

“I thought you were a hill-climb champion,” she said.

“I am.” He flexed his scarred right hand, winced. “I was. But that’s because I was driving, and I had no time to spare for car-sickness.” He slanted a look at Brienne. “And before you ask, yes, I get sea-sick too. No luxury yachts for me.”

“What about flying?”

He laughed. “There’s a reason we always took the private jet.” 

**

A couple of dry biscuits and some flat ginger beer later, he was feeling a little bit better. He took over driving duty, and the enforced concentration seemed to focus his mind and body on other things.

Still, compared to his normal irony and twisting conversation, he was a very subdued companion for at least another hour until they left the winding range behind them and descended onto a long, flat straight.

**

That night, he didn’t even argue when she booked them into a two-star motel.

(“Are you sure you’re okay, Jaime?” she asked, concerned. Unthinking, she put her hand on his forehead to check his temperature, starting a little as he caught her hand.

She was standing much closer to him than usual. She could see his golden stubble, and the tiny flecks of gold in his bright green eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. His pulse was beating swiftly in his throat, and his pupils dilated until only a thin circle of green remained.

She cleared her throat awkwardly and stepped back, but did not pull her hand away from his.)

**

On the fourth morning, they took the ferry to Tarth.

The sun was shining, and the water was blue, calm, and clear.

(Still, Jaime downed a couple of pills and stayed out on deck, the brisk sea air ruffling his curls.)

Galladon met them at the ferry dock with a wide smile. “Here you are!” he said to Brienne, engulfing her in a bone-crushing hug. “We’ve been waiting for you. Welcome home!”

He turned to Jaime and held out his hand. “And welcome, Jaime. The whole family’s been dying to meet you.”


End file.
